


Swelter

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Trans, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Companionable Snark, Established Relationship, Groping, Hot Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Summer, Transgender Tanaka, Transgender Tsukishima
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Tanaka breathes as softly as possible and holds perfectly still against the floor while thinking the stillest thoughts they can manage; but there’s another knock at the door, sharper this time, and then a voice: 'I know you’re in there,' in the clear, crystalline tones that always manage to carry the razor edge of a knife under the words and always shudder a tingle of adrenaline into Tanaka’s veins. 'Open the door, Tanaka.'" Tanaka and Tsukishima make a summer day hotter than it already is.





	Swelter

Tanaka’s apartment is hot.

This isn’t that shocking in itself. The air conditioner is expensive to run and hardly effective anyway, when the air feels so much like it has a weight of its own pressing close against every inch of Tanaka’s body; but just at the moment, lying flat on their back and staring blankly up at the ceiling, Tanaka’s convinced they’ve never experienced anything so blisteringly hot before. They feel a little like their skin is going to melt off, a little bit like they’re going to drown in their own sweat; there’s the stick of a long-since eaten popsicle lying on the floor just past their outstretched hand, but the treat only left them feeling stickier and no cooler, and the oppressive heat makes the thought even of getting up to fetch another entirely offputting. Tanaka wonders if they can feasibly lie here through the whole of the afternoon, watching the stripe of sunlight from the front window progress across the floor with the hum of cicadas to keep it company; maybe it’s possible to just hold perfectly still for the hours until the evening settles with the minimal relief darkness brings. Maybe they can become completely nocturnal, they think as the room seems to shimmer in a haze of heat, as their vision blurs and refocuses; surely it can’t be _hotter_ at night, and there’s no point at all to trying to exist through the middle of days like today.

There’s a knock at the door.

Tanaka barely refrains from groaning. They’re not going to get up to try to make conversation with one of the well-meaning neighbors, not when even the thin fabric of their tank top is clinging to their skin and going translucent with the damp of their sweat soaking through the cloth. But giving voice to the frustration they feel will only let the visitor know that someone is home; if they stay perfectly silent surely the unexpected guest will go away under the assumption the apartment is unoccupied. Tanaka breathes as softly as possible and holds perfectly still against the floor while thinking the stillest thoughts they can manage; but there’s another knock at the door, sharper this time, and then a voice: “I know you’re in there,” in the clear, crystalline tones that always manage to carry the razor edge of a knife under the words and always shudder a tingle of adrenaline into Tanaka’s veins. “Open the door, Tanaka.”

“Fuck off,” Tanaka calls back, even if their mouth is curving up onto a grin just at the sound of that voice. “It’s too damn hot to move.”

“I didn’t ask about the temperature.” Tsukishima’s voice is still carefully distinct over each sound; Tanaka shuts their eyes and wonders how much irritated ice they can draw out of the other’s throat. “I told you to answer your door instead of lying on your floor half-naked like some heathen.”

Tanaka’s grin drags wider. They reach for the bottom edge of their tank top, pulling the fabric up so they can scratch roughly against the salt-sweat collecting at the curve of their chest. “Didn’t know you had a kink for playing mommy.”

Tsukishima huffs a breath, the sound crackling electric with rising irritation. “ _Tanaka_.”

“ _Tsukki_ ,” Tanaka growls back, in the lowest range they can reach, just for the satisfaction of feeling the sound rumble with pleasant unfamiliarity in the depth of their chest. “Let yourself in if you want in so bad, I’m sure a genius like you can figure it out.” And they fall silent again, letting their body relax back from that moment of tension and into the overheated sprawl they had before while they listen for signs of effort from the front door.

There’s no guarantee Tsukishima will let themself in. They’ve lost their temper over this kind of thing before and huffed away to leave Tanaka to their own devices; it’s always a little hard to judge how Tsukishima will react to any given provocation. Which is all the more reason, of course, for Tanaka to keep doing it; it’s exciting to confront that unpredictability, to push down on the button of Tsukishima’s temper and wait to see what kind of reaction will result.

There’s a moment of silence. Tanaka listens for the sound of footsteps, waits for the vibration of shoes hitting the hall outside to run up through them via their position on the floor; it wouldn’t be surprising to have Tsukishima just walk away, with or without a parting insult. But then there’s the sound of a lock turning, the mechanism giving way to the force of a key, and Tanaka’s smile drags wider as they hear the apartment door squeaking open.

“You’re disgusting,” Tsukishima announces as they let the door slam shut behind them without any attempt to catch the weight of it. Tanaka tips their head back against the floor and opens their eyes to look at the other upside-down as they approach. Tsukishima has their chin lifted high, their expression composed into the haughty judgment that always makes Tanaka’s blood stir a little hotter just at the sight of it; they’re all but sneering as a bare arm swings to toss their spare key towards Tanaka’s bare stomach. “It would have been polite to greet your visitor at the door, you know.”

“You’re not dating me for my politeness,” Tanaka says. The key hits their stomach, the weight of it warm from the grip of Tsukishima’s fingers; they lift one hand from the support of the floor to catch at the top of it and toy with the metal without looking away from the length of Tsukishima’s bare legs as the other braces a hand against the doorframe and toes their sandals off their feet.  Tsukishima’s skin is glistening in the heat, the radiance of their sweat filming to almost a glow around them; Tanaka feels a little like they’re looking at a mirage, with trembling heat waves clinging to Tsukishima’s body to make the other look even more like a dream than usual.

“No,” Tsukishima agrees, still with that bite on their tone as they keep their head ducked down to offer needless attention to their shoe. “I think we both know _exactly_ why I’m dating you.”

Tanaka doesn’t have to reach for the grin that stretches wide against their lips. They drop the key to the floor and lift their hands to fold behind their head, dipping their eyelashes to leer at Tsukishima standing over them. “Is that an invitation?”

Tsukishima rolls their eyes ostentiously and lets their shoe drop to the floor. “How direct do you want me to be?”

“I dunno,” Tanaka drawls. “‘Hey babe, I’m here to get fucked’ always works pretty well.”

“Charming,” Tsukishima says, judgment so harsh on their tone it cuts through the hot air like ice. “I don’t know what I expected.”

“Come _on_ , Tsukki,” Tanaka says, letting their hand slide over their stomach and down to their hips and the loose edge of the boxers that are the only thing they can stand to wear in the oppressive heat. “You can’t get pissy about me telling it like it is.”

Tsukishima tilts their head to the side and raises one pale eyebrow in a steep tilt towards their hairline. It would be a very convincing imitation of disgust if Tanaka hadn’t seen exactly that same expression seconds before the first time Tsukishima had shoved them back against the closest wall and kissed them senseless as a means of expressing their interest. “ _Can’t_ I?”

“Nah,” Tanaka grins, responding to the chill in Tsukishima’s tone by the simple effect of ignoring it outright. “Not when we both know why you came over here in the first place.” They let their hand press down farther, well past the edge of their hips, until they can grind the flat of their palm in against the rising heat in their body, the force as much to stir them towards greater arousal as anything else.

Tsukishima’s gaze follows the line of Tanaka’s hand, trailing the flex of muscle in bicep and forearm down to the telltale shift of the other’s wrist just over the stretched-wide waistband of their boxers; the upward drag of that same gaze is just as deliberate, so slow and weighted with intent Tanaka can feel it like a featherlight touch ghosting over their skin. “And why exactly do you think I came over?”

Tanaka flashes the brightest, widest grin they have to offer. “‘Cause you want a dick up your ass.”

Tsukishima rolls their eyes towards the thin of Tanaka’s ceiling and tilts their head back as they heave a sigh. “Your eloquence is, as ever--”

“A turn-on?” Tanaka suggests.

“Mind-numbing,” Tsukishima finishes, and lets their head tip back down so they can fix Tanaka with the flattest stare Tanaka’s ever seen. “I certainly didn’t come over just to watch you jerk yourself off. If you don’t want to get up off the floor I can just leave again, I’d hate to interrupt your afternoon plans of being completely useless.”

Tanaka just grins harder. “I think I can get _something_ up,” they say, and push at the waistband of their boxers to urge them farther off the angle of their hips. “C’mere and let me get my fingers in your ass.”

“God save us from your idea of _seduction_ ,” Tsukishima sighs; but they’re stepping forward anyway, covering the short distance from Tanaka’s front door to where the other is sprawled across the floor in a pair of strides with those ridiculously long legs. Tanaka lifts their free hand to stretch out and touch fingertips to the angle of Tsukishima’s ankle, to the press of bone close against pale skin; but they don’t need to strain for the contact, not when Tsukishima is already dropping to kneel against the floor. Tsukishima’s loose shirt shifts with the movement, fluttering out and away from their body for a moment as they move; the action is enough to draw Tanaka’s attention up to the curve of Tsukishima’s body and the telltale way the fabric clings close against the other’s chest.

“You know I’m always ready to _satisfy_ you,” Tanaka purrs, letting their voice rumble in the depths of their chest as they slide their hand back up past the waistband of their boxers to reach up instead and fit their fingers under the hanging edge of Tsukishima’s loose tank top. “‘Specially if you show up with your tits on display for the world to see.”

“You’re disgusting,” Tsukishima informs them; but Tanaka’s fingers are sliding up over the soft flat of the other’s stomach, and Tsukishima is making no move at all to push the touch aside as Tanaka draws up over their ribcage and towards the soft swell of the other’s breasts. “It’s horrifically hot, I’m not going to wear a bra in weather like this.”

“You don’t need to defend yourself to me,” Tanaka informs them, even though Tsukishima sounds more irritated than defensive. They push up from the floor onto their elbow, turning in sideways towards Tsukishima kneeling alongside them so they can push their touch up higher and curl the span of their fingers around the weight of Tsukishima’s chest and press their palm close against the point of the other’s nipple. “You make such a perfect handful, everyone oughta be able to appreciate the view.”

“Is that so?” Tsukishima says. There’s a little more of an arch to their back, a little more curve to their body, like they’re pressing closer against Tanaka’s hand in spite of the overwhelming heat in the air. “I could always go back out and see if I have any other takers and let you get back to your nap.”

“Nah,” Tanaka says, and pushes harder against the edge of Tsukishima’s tank top. “I’m not that tired right now anyway.”

“This hardly counts as even basic decency,” Tsukishima observes; but Tanaka is tugging their tank top up and off, and they’re lifting their arms up to aid the other in their movement. “I really _could_ find someone to give me what I want quickly if I went out like this.”

“Yeah, someone like me,” Tanaka offers back. “Isn’t this what you were looking for?” as they sit up entirely from the floor and reach out to press both hands in and against the soft give of Tsukishima’s breasts, “I like seeing you like this better anyway.”

“Pervert,” Tsukishima says, but there’s the faintest tension of a smirk at the corner of their mouth, and they’re not drawing away from the press of Tanaka’s hands against their chest. Their gaze behind the dark frames of their glasses is still steady, their expression still cool enough to offset some of the oppressive heat in the air; but Tanaka can feel Tsukishima’s nipples slowly hardening under their touch, a telltale sign for the very beginnings of interest.

“You love it,” Tanaka says, with the easy assurance that always makes Tsukishima rolls their eyes and always makes Tanaka crack into a grin as wide as it is irrepressible. “That _is_ why you came over here, isn’t it?”

“To get felt up while you try to figure out what to do next?” Tsukishima deadpans. “Yes, of course, I _live_ for this treatment.”

Tanaka huffs a laugh. “‘What to do next,’” they repeat, and let their hand at Tsukishima’s breast go to slide down and around so they can fit their fingers in against the sweat-slippery curve of the other’s spine. “Why didn’t you just say you wanted to make out in the first place?”

“I’m sorry,” Tsukishima says, sounding not at all so. “I thought you didn’t need to be walked through every step of the process. Should I bring a to-do list for you to follow next time?” But that smile is spreading across their lips, and they’re tipping closer without hesitation, lifting a hand to brace at Tanaka’s shoulder with those elegant fingers as they slide in to straddle Tanaka’s open knees and fit their thighs in against the other’s. The extra weight on Tanaka’s lap comes with its own heat, the press of their bare skin together catches and sticks with the pull of sweat-stick; but Tanaka doesn’t mind the temperature so much when they have Tsukishima’s chest pressing close against their own and the weight of Tsukishima’s hips grinding down against them. They let their other hand at Tsukishima’s chest slide free, pushing up instead to tangle into the sweat-damp gold of the other’s hair, and Tsukishima ducks down even before Tanaka can pull to bring their mouths fitting together with careful grace.

Tanaka loves the way Tsukishima kisses. There’s something precise about it, studied and structured like no one Tanaka has ever kissed before, certainly unlike the way Tanaka kisses. Tsukishima moves their lips with intention, as if the contact is a focused exploration of Tanaka’s mouth, or as if they’re presenting a finished treatise on the way their bodies ought to fit together; and Tanaka surges up to meet them, shutting their eyes and tipping their head and giving in entirely to the sticky-sweet heat of their mouths together. Where Tsukishima’s movements are elegant Tanaka’s are forceful, they meet and take and demand more as quickly as Tsukishima offers it. Tsukishima parts their lips slightly, the barest hint of a suggestion in the motion; and Tanaka tightens their hand at the back of Tsukishima’s head and presses in closer, licking in against the wet heat of the other’s mouth as if Tsukishima is a replacement for that long-since finished popsicle. Tsukishima makes a soft sound in the back of their throat, something so faint Tanaka thinks they might not catch it at all if they were any distance away; but as it is they can feel the vibration against their tongue, can almost taste Tsukishima’s reaction at the back of their own throat as if the sound of Tsukishima’s rising interest is spilling into their own body to heat the desire already hot as the summertime air at their skin.

“God _damn_ ,” Tanaka groans as they break away for a moment to gasp a breath and try to fight back the leading edge of overheated dizziness. “You’re such a fucking cocktease, Tsukki” coupled with an upward rock of their hips to grind against the soft space between Tsukishima’s legs. “I swear I’ve had a halfie since you came in the door.”

“So you keep saying,” Tsukishima says, their eyes half-lidded into that cool judgment that never fails to heat Tanaka’s blood, their desire rising in direct relation to Tsukishima’s apparent composure in the face of it. But then Tsukishima’s not wholly unaffected either, whatever they might be trying to pretend; their cheeks are showing the beginnings of a flush Tanaka thinks is more than a sunburn, and the points of their nipples are tight against the front of Tanaka’s own chest. Even Tsukishima’s cock is starting to swell, rising to tentative interest in defiance of both the heat and Tsukishima’s claimed indifference. “Are you planning on ever following through on all your empty promises?”

“Sure I will,” Tanaka says without a trace of apology. They let their hand slide down the slick curve of Tsukishima’s spine and to the other’s hip, dig their fingers in hard at the sharp angle to brace the other’s weight still while they rock their hips up and against the resistance of Tsukishima’s body. Tsukishima’s lashes dip, their head ducks forward, and Tanaka grins at this obvious reaction and moves again, making the motion as drawn-out into suggestion as they possibly can. “Don’t you want to take the time to appreciate the process?”

“Not particularly,” Tsukishima says, managing to attain a level of condescension even as their hand tightens at the back of Tanaka’s neck and their thighs flex to press forward in a rhythm to match and meet Tanaka’s casual force. “I just thought it might be less effort to have someone else get me off instead of doing it myself.”

“Oo, sweet talk,” Tanaka says, and slides their fingers down and under the waistband of Tsukishima’s boxers to press against the curve of the other’s ass and squeeze suggestion against the soft give of it. “If you’re ready to get down to business then let’s go. You know I’m always ready to get it up for you, baby.”

Tsukishima sniffs cool judgment. “Pervert.”

“Asshole,” Tanaka fires back, grinning so the insult comes out as endearment, and lets their hand at the back of Tsukishima’s neck go so they can smack against the other’s ass instead. “Go get the stuff from the bedroom.”

Tsukishima huffs in the back of their throat, offering judgment that doesn’t need words to clarify the meaning; but they’re moving anyway, getting to their feet as they rise from Tanaka’s lap and step away to move towards the open door to the bedroom. Tanaka watches them go with a total lack of shame about staring at the expanse of bare skin Tsukishima has on display, from long legs to sweat-slick back; but then, Tsukishima shows absolutely no signs of embarrassment, any more than they ever have indicated. Tanaka appreciates the view and the self-confidence in about equal measures; by the time Tsukishima is coming back with the necessary additions, Tanaka’s grin has spread across the whole of their face.

“You’re so damn sexy,” they announce as Tsukishima comes back to fold to their knees before setting aside the smooth weight they have in one hand and offering the bottle of lube in the other for Tanaka’s outstretched hands. “I’d stare at you all day if I could.”

“Would you,” Tsukishima says, tamping the words to such flatness that there’s not even the suggestion of an upswing to make them a question. Their head is ducked down so they can watch their hands instead of Tanaka’s face; Tanaka lets their gaze follow Tsukishima’s, just for the shiver of anticipation that runs through them at watching those graceful fingers unfasten the button and fly of the shorts that are all the other still has on. Tsukishima undoes the front, and rocks up onto their knees to push the clothing down and off their hips, and Tanaka would swear they can feel themself go hotter just at the sight of Tsukishima laying the half-hard flush of their cock bare for Tanaka’s eyes. Tsukishima rocks back to sit against the floor so they can strip their shorts down and free before tossing them aside with as much casual unconcern as if they’re collecting laundry instead of stripping themself naked for Tanaka’s gaze; it’s only then that their attention slide back up, that golden eyes look up over the rims of dark glasses to catch and hold Tanaka’s stare. “Perhaps I should go stand in the corner and satisfy myself, instead? If staring is all you want, I’m sure that would be a lot less effort for us both.”

Tanaka snorts. “Don’t be a fucking cocktease, Tsukki,” they say, and Tsukishima’s lashes dip down as their mouth quirks on the faintest suggestion of a smile. Tanaka grins wide in acknowledgement of the other’s amusement and finally looks down to twist open the lid of the lube and spill the slick liquid over their fingers. “You know what I want.”

“I have some faint inkling,” Tsukishima drawls. “It’s a testament to my brilliance, you know, since you’re so endlessly subtle about your desire.”

“You’re such a dick,” Tanaka says, recapping the bottle so they can toss it aside before holding their slick fingers up and wiggling them into suggestion. “Bend over and let me fuck you.”

“How romantic,” Tsukishima says. “Is that truly the best you have to offer?”

“Not by a long shot,” Tanaka tells him, as Tsukishima moves to steady themself over their hands and knees against the smooth flat of the floor beneath them and Tanaka moves closer to reach for the other’s hip and steady them both against each other. “Just wait until I get you warmed up, I’ll show you how much I have.”

“‘Warmed up,’” Tsukishima repeats, dragging the words into scoffing disbelief. “As if I need to be any _warmer_ with the weather like it is.”

“Sure you do,” Tanaka grins. “‘S why you came here, after all.” It’s not a question -- the statement is just simple truth -- and Tsukishima doesn’t give any kind of resistance to it, just ducks their head down so the back of their neck curves smoothly from the line of their shoulderblades up to the sweat-dark tangle of their hair. Tanaka’s gaze clings there as they rock up onto their knees alongside Tsukishima’s hip, their attention following the slide of a droplet of sweat against the line of the other’s throat; but then Tsukishima swallows, and shifts their hands like they’re bracing themself, and Tanaka looks down as their attention is pulled back to where it should be, against the soft curve of Tsukishima’s ass in front of them. There’s plenty to be appreciated here -- the pale of skin untouched by sunlight, the flex of muscle running up the backs of Tsukishima’s thighs, the delicious obscenity in the way Tsukishima’s spine curves as if to make an offering of themself -- but Tanaka’s never been one for patience, and however good Tsukishima is to look at they’re better to feel. So they reach out instead, weighting slick fingers against the flushed pink heat of Tsukishima’s entrance, and they push at once, breaching the flexing tension of the other’s body in a single motion before Tsukishima has time to do more than hiss an inhale of anticipation.

Tsukishima doesn’t voice protest. They never do, no matter how fast Tanaka pushes them, no matter how forceful the other’s movement; Tanaka wonders if it’s just a point of pride, or if Tsukishima likes the rough edge of it, if there’s not a shimmer of something like masochism under the cool control of the other’s facade. It comes out to nearly the same thing in the end, anyway, which is this: Tanaka’s lube-slick finger sliding deep into the strain of Tsukishima’s body, burying itself into heat that more than matches the sticky humidity of the air, and listening to the hiss of Tsukishima’s breathing catching onto the first indication of strain they’ve offered since their arrival.

“Goddamn,” Tanaka says, feeling breathless and letting the sound cling clear to the words. They pull back to drive in again, working Tsukishima open with strokes made as easy by experience as by the lubrication slicking their movements into a wet rhythm. “You look so fucking good like this, Tsukki.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the view,” Tsukishima deadpans without lifting their head from where they’re leaning hard against the floor. “At least _one_ of us is satisfied.”

“I’ll get there,” Tanaka says, letting their voice grate to the rough edge of promise in their throat as they keep moving, stroking into Tsukishima’s body with long, slick movements that come easy with the practice that Tanaka never minds putting into this particular pursuit. “I’ll have you coming all over the floor in a few minutes, Tsukki, calm your tits.”

Tsukishima huffs against the floor. “It’s _hot_ ,” they protest, their voice half-muffled by the angle of their head and the barrier of their body. “I feel like I’m melting, if you don’t hurry up I’m going to pass out from heat exhaustion.”

Tanaka coughs a laugh. “I don’t think me fucking you is going to help you cool off,” they say. Tsukishima is easing to the press of their finger; they try a second, pressing against the clench and drag of Tsukishima’s entrance until the other relaxes and Tanaka can ease another finger into the slick-wet heat of the other’s body. “Kinda hoping for the opposite, actually.”

“You keep saying that,” Tsukishima says. “Planning on following through any time today?” Tanaka might even believe the cool distance in the other’s voice if it weren’t for the pressure clenching around their fingers, the reflexive ripples of sensation they can feel tightening around them with each forward stroke they take. It makes their body flush hotter even than they already are, as if they’re not already slippery with the sweat coating the whole of their skin; there’s an ache low in their stomach, desire knotting itself into a fist in them and tensing their nipples taut on heat until Tanaka can feel the weight of their thin shirt dragging sensation over them with every motion of their arm into Tsukishima.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tanaka says, letting their hold at Tsukishima’s hip go to reach down and around instead, to touch their fingertips to the flat of the other’s stomach before trailing down to the flushed heat of Tsukishima’s cock. Tsukishima’s still almost completely hard; Tanaka can feel the other’s cock twitching with each forward stroke, like they’re working arousal into Tsukishima’s body from the tips of their fingers. They wrap their grip in around Tsukishima’s length, squeezing gently against the heated resistance, and Tsukishima shudders against the floor, their whole body trembling with the friction of Tanaka’s touch. Tanaka flashes a grin down at the tense line of Tsukishima’s shoulders and presses their thumb in to drag against the head of Tsukishima’s cock in their hold. “You want I should just let you head home and take a cold shower?”

Tsukishima huffs irritation against the floor. “ _No_ ,” they snap. “I want you to stop dicking around and _fuck_ me.”

Tanaka laughs. “You know, if you want me to fuck you, isn’t that me _starting_ to--”

“ _Ryuunosuke_ ,” Tsukishima hisses to entirely cut off what Tanaka was intending to say. “If you’d rather make bad puns than have sex I really _will_ head home and take care of myself.”

Tanaka lets their hold on Tsukishima’s length go to lift their hand in an imitation of innocence. “Calm down, Kei, jesus.” They brace against the other’s hip with their free hand, tipping Tsukishima forward and steady so they can slide slick fingers back and free of the other’s body. “You get really pissy when you’re horny, did you know?” Tanaka reaches out to gesture with an open hand while Tsukishima is still hissing irritation at this particular claim. “Hand me my dick and I’ll give you what you want.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Tsukishima sniffs, managing somehow to sound haughty even with their skin coated in sweat and their knees angled apart to make a show of their slick-stretched entrance; but they’re moving as quickly as they offer snarky protest, pushing up onto the support of one hand so they can reach out for the slick smooth of the silicon they brought out along with the bottle of lube. Tanaka, for their part, is occupied in shoving their boxers off their hips and to their knees; it might be easier to strip them off entirely, but Tsukishima is twisting to offer the demanded accessory, and they’re not the only one who’s horny just at the moment. Tanaka takes the weight from the other, appreciating the summer-warmed feel of the smooth curve in their hand; and then they brace a hand around the longer front of the cock, and bring it between their legs to slide up and into themself. They do it all at once, in a single, smooth movement that fills them up in the space between one breath and the next, and Tanaka hears themself groaning satisfaction just at that first surge of sensation.

There’s a temptation right away, with their hand still braced around the smooth of their cock and the pressure working inside them, a desire to jerk themself off like this the way they might if they were left to their own devices for the span of the afternoon; but “ _Ryuu_ ,” Tsukishima is grating, their voice unravelling at the edges into the nickname they only ever use when they’re truly desperate, and anyway it’s always better to have Tsukishima there with them. Tanaka reaches for Tsukishima’s hip, digging their short-cut fingernails in hard to brace against the slick of the other’s skin; and then they guide themself into alignment with the tension of Tsukishima’s entrance, and press their knees close against the inside of the other’s, and start to rock forward to thrust into them.

Tsukishima reacts immediately. Tanaka always likes this part, likes the way they can see Tsukishima clenching around their cock as they slide into the other, likes the way the reflexive convulsions of the other’s body shift against the pressure inside their own, to grind and weight against that knot of want within their body with every forward inch of depth they gain.

“God _damn_ ,” Tanaka groans, feeling like the sound is resonating up from the depths of their abdomen, like it’s spilling up their throat more as an involuntary rumble of reaction than coherent words. “ _Kei_.”

“Fu _ck_ ,” Tsukishima spits against the floor, their voice skidding out over the harsh edges of the consonants. Their fingers flex, their nails dig for traction against the surface beneath them. “Stop talking and _move_.”

Tanaka laughs, except the amusement turns over on itself as they buck their hips forward and the pressure inside them angles deeper, the laugh unravelling into the back end of a moan by the time it leaves their lips. “Alright,” they say, and they brace Tsukishima’s hips between both hands, and they start to move in earnest.

Tanaka stays quiet. They prefer that, in situations like this; words are hard to come by, speech difficult to untangle, and it’s easier to let their head tip forward and fix their gaze on the sharp upward angle of Tsukishima’s hips, and watch the smooth slick of their cock press into the other’s body with each motion they take. Their own breathing is ragged enough, between the humidity in the air and the rising tide of heat in their own veins; better to let that speak for them, to save themself the effort of finding voice from the deep inhales of air they’re taking. But Tsukishima: Tsukishima is loud, vocal and clear about their desires even as their coherency fractures away into something that’s the purest thing to raw frustration Tanaka’s ever heard, like whatever bare facade of politeness the other usually maintains is giving way with every forward stroke of Tanaka’s hips. “ _Fuck_ ,” Tsukishima spits, making the expletive something razor-edged and ruthless on their lips; “ _More_ , harder, you _asshole_ just _fuck_ me,” as Tanaka is gaining speed enough to rock Tsukishima forward against that white-knuckled grip the other has on the floor, burying their length inside the other’s body as part of the same motion of grinding the satisfaction of pressure up into themself. Tsukishima presses their palms flat to the floor and shoves to rock themself backwards, and Tanaka groans at the force, their body canting forward to press closer against the hard length in front of them in reflexive pursuit of their own pleasure. They’re moving fast, so fast they can hear the wet sound of their length working into Tsukishima with each thrust, can feel the tension inside themself winding tighter with every breath; but still Tsukishima is cursing, biting off insults and demands and pleas in rapidfire succession, until one breaks over the other as quickly as their voice does. It makes Tanaka want to laugh, makes Tanaka’s chest ache with the pressure of affection, like their ribcage isn’t big enough to hold all the force of the appreciation swelling inside them, until they realize they’re leaning in over Tsukishima’s spine, their body curving closer until the loose fall of their shirt is brushing the other’s back with each movement of their bodies coming together.

“Kei,” Tanaka gasps, the pressure in their chest demanding voice even in this minimal way, in the vowels of the other’s name spilling up their throat as the rhythm of their motion takes on a frantic edge, as their fingers seize to dig bruises into Tsukishima’s hips. “ _Kei_.”

“Don’t you dare,” Tsukishima snaps, and they’re twisting their head up to glare sideways at Tanaka over them, their face flushed and hair rumpled and glasses knocked askew on their face. “ _Ryuunosuke_ , don’t you _dare_ come yet.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tanaka gasps, and feels the strain in them ease from the edge of desperation, feels it smooth and relax into inevitability as they keep moving, as they...and their voice breaks, their vision flares to white, and they’re groaning, “ _Kei_ ” cracking open over the whole range of their voice as their whole body tightens and shudders into the convulsive ripples of orgasm. Tsukishima is still hissing, something sharp and bitter with frustration; but Tanaka doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t back away from the driving pace of their hips even as their legs flex with the tremors of heat and their body tenses through the overwhelming surges of sensation. The pressure is too much, it’s overriding their coherency and stripping the clarity of their vision; but they’re easing their hold on Tsukishima’s hip, enough to let their hand press down and around instead, and they don’t need coherency to find the heavy heat of the other’s cock arching towards their stomach. Tsukishima sobs a breath as Tanaka’s fingers touch them, their lashes fluttering as their focus gives way; and Tanaka pulls up over them hard, tensing their grip to a firm hold and stroking as quickly as they brace themself. Underneath them Tsukishima shudders, their whole body tensing and curving up as if to flinch away from the sudden rush of sensation; but Tanaka knows Tsukishima in this, Tanaka doesn’t need to be able to think clearly to recognize the signs of impending satisfaction in Tsukishima’s body. They gasp a breath at the back of the other’s neck, feeling their lungs strain on the tremors of pleasure in them and the thick humidity of the air coating them with the slick wet of summer sweat; and then they stroke again, pressing their fingers in close against the head of Tsukishima’s cock, and Tsukishima makes a broken-off noise of desperation and convulses into heat against the floor, their whole body trembling through the surges of pleasure that rush through them and spill wet across the Tanaka’s fingers. Tanaka keeps moving, slower, now, with long, rocking strokes to let them both ride out the aftershocks of pleasure; and beneath them Tsukishima goes slack as all the tension in their body gives way as if they’ve melted, like the weight of the summertime heat has finally overriden the stability of their muscles and bones to spill them limp and liquid against Tanaka’s floor.

Tanaka draws them both through the last shudders of overheated satisfaction; and then finally they take a breath, and sigh themself into relief, and let their weight collapse forward against the curve of Tsukishima’s spine. Tsukishima’s breath rushes out of them at once, knocked free by the force of Tanaka’s body pressing atop theirs; the support of Tsukishima’s limbs gives way to deposit them both into a boneless heap against the floor of Tanaka’s apartment. Tanaka shuts their eyes, feeling languid and spent and heavy with pleasure, and they wait for Tsukishima to find the edge for their voice again.

It takes less time than Tanaka expects. Tsukishima turns their head against the floor, lifts a hand to push at their glasses; and then: “Get _off_ me,” the words rising back up from the liquid shimmer of pleasure to frost into irritation as Tsukishima reaches to shove at Tanaka’s shoulder. They do succeed in knocking Tanaka sideways and sprawling across the floor but Tanaka still has their hold at Tsukishima’s hip, and still has their cock in Tsukishima’s ass, so they gain no distance from the other at all and more just a shift in position. Tanaka lands on their shoulder, huffing unconcerned response to the force of the impact, and in front of them Tsukishima hisses, their body protesting this rough use even as Tanaka feels the twitch of their cock shifting as Tsukishima clenches around it at the friction. “ _Ryuunosuke_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tanaka says. “I’m going, I’m going.” They’re as good as their word; it’s easy to brace Tsukishima still as Tanaka settles their knee against the floor to steady themself to pull back and free of the other’s body. Tsukishima groans at the motion, their voice thrumming over the shudder of friction that jolts through them, but Tanaka is moving before Tsukishima has yet relaxed again to slide the heavy curve free of the pressure of their own body. It feels good, in a deep, satisfied way, the movement dragging inside them and the relief as it comes free; they reach out to set the weight aside, against the floor to be cleaned and put away later, before shifting back in to drop an arm around Tsukishima’s waist and pressing their hand in against the flat of the other’s stomach over the softening heat of their cock.

“You’re all sticky,” Tsukishima observes as Tanaka spreads their sticky fingers to press at the other’s skin and trail up towards the swell of Tsukishima’s breasts. “Aren’t you going to clean up first?”

Tanaka snorts into Tsukishima’s hair, their breath hard enough that it ruffles through the yellow curls. “I’ll just get sweaty again as soon as I’m done.” They pull against Tsukishima’s body, just enough to draw the other back against their hips so they can fit the sharp angles of Tsukishima’s shoulderblades against the soft of their own chest. “We’ll take a shower later.”

Tsukishima sniffs. “We had better,” they say, their voice biting with the edge of chill; but they don’t pull away to unfold from Tanaka’s hold, even when the other gets their hand up to squeeze gently at the soft of Tsukishima’s breast. Tanaka grins at the back of Tsukishima’s neck, and ducks their head to breathe heat against the damp skin just against the other’s hairline, and they stay close, even as their tank top goes damp and clinging with the wet of the sweat between them.

Their apartment is still as hot as it was when Tsukishima came over, maybe more so; but just at the moment, Tanaka doesn’t mind it so much.


End file.
